Coaching Chronicles: The Fine Line Between Pride and Disappointment

I coached a high school boys swim team for six seasons. I loved it. I inherited a team that had a few state-caliber swimmers, but the majority of the team was of role players of mixed ability and athleticism. It was similar to the team I had competed on during my own high school years. 

I also happened to be working as a police officer on midnight shift (7:00pm to 7:00am). That meant that during the season, I’d work all night, come home at 7:30am, wake up at 3:00pm, and be at swim practice from 3:30pm to 5:30pm. A quick ride home for a 20 minute dinner with my family before heading into work again. It was chaos, and I loved it. It was enjoyable because my teams during those years were full of characters. For the most part, they were coachable and committed to improvement. Above all else, they were loyal and dedicated to supporting each other as teammates. I worked to maintain that culture throughout my tenure with the team. 

We were part of a division of strong local and regional teams, and often went into meets as underdogs. That didn’t faze my guys, nor did it dissuade them chasing their own improvement and end-of-season goals. Almost always, the swimmers ended their seasons with personal records. I loved seeing their hard work and dedication pay off. 

One particular swimmer embodied all of this himself. He was the model teammate; kind, strong, always willing to do the hard work, and a leader by example. As he progressed through his high school years and grew up on the team, he set goals for himself and achieved them. The final goal during his senior season was a punched ticket to the state meet in Chicago. 

Together, we developed a plan for racing his primary event that would culminate in one final swim at the Sectional meet. This would be his last chance to achieve the time standard required for entry into the meet, or a first-place finish. He spent years working towards this single swim, and it came down to a few maximum-effort minutes in the water. Not only did we have a training plan for the years, months, weeks, and days before the meet, we had one for the race as well. He showed up that day ready to race. I could see it in his eyes; a steely, focused resolve. 

The race started and he looked great in the water, staying with the leaders and drafting them in the water. This too, was part of the plan. We had pre-determined where in the race he would make his move, a time when he would throw his legs into the race and surge forward with intensity. This often happens in running races on the track where runners will “kick” at the finish and sprint. My swimmer’s surge would be thrown in around the 70% mark. 

As my assistant coach and I tracked his splits for each length of the pool against where my swimmer needed to be, we realized that he was falling a little behind the planned pace. Instead of waiting for that 70-75% mark, I gave him the “GO” signal early, and I could see in his turnover that he immediately picked up the pace, responding to my direction. The race wasn’t even halfway over. I worried that he would panic. 

It felt way too early to push that button, but if he lost contact with the lead group of two other swimmers, tracking them down would be too much to overcome at the end of the race. I had to trust that the incredible fitness he had built up over the year would hold out and give him the energy to stay strong through the remaining yards. It did. 

By the time he touched the wall at the end, he had dropped 5 seconds off of his personal best time, and 2-3 seconds under where we had hoped he might get. It was a smashing success. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough for the state standard, and the swimmer he had come to beat also swam a great race and finished ahead of my guy. I felt terrible for him. He had done everything he needed to do, for over a year, and had still come up just short. 

Had I sapped him of too much energy? Was it the right call? We met after the race, looked at his splits, and he agreed that I had sent him at the right time. He was surprised, but in that moment, trusted the plan we had developed and the end time justified his efforts. He also trusted me. Even though his chance to represent our school at the state meet was gone, he was pleased with his personal best time and how he had raced. 

I was happy for him also, but I wasn’t so quickly relieved. My satisfaction with his PR time felt hollow and bitter. I had wanted him to succeed so badly, and I felt awful that he hadn’t gotten something that he had truly earned. He had worked so hard. 

That feeling of disappointment has a close cousin: pride (the good kind!). In other swim meets, in other events, or even in the professional world when members of my team have been recognized for their hard work, I’ve been fortunate to feel that surge of pride when their efforts are justly rewarded. I love seeing my team win. 

I never bathed in the success of my team nor did I sulk behind their shortcomings or failures. When they’re successful, it’s a testament to their hard work and dedication. When they’re not, that’s when the spotlight should be on me. That’s when I need to be out in front of them acknowledging why I didn’t prepare them or do what I need to do for them to succeed. 

This is what it is to be a leader who loves their teams. Enormous pride when the team is successful and reaps the rewards of its success or the crushing disappointment you have for them when they don’t get something that they so deserve. 

That is the life of a leader. It’s not pushing your team up over the top and getting the win at all costs. So much of leadership is being the safety net when they fall. I’ve seen a lot of good leaders who are excellent at preparing their team to win, and when that doesn’t happen, their identify and effectiveness are gone. They don’t know what to say in the locker room or after the fact. There are other leaders who aren’t inspiring, go-getter types who can rally their teams to victory, but when things go bad, they have an ability to keep the team together and prepare them for their next trial. The greatest ones, well, they can do it all, while managing a diverse set of personalities. 

When I began writing this article, the central question I had for myself was “How do you deal with the hurt you have for your people when they don’t get something they deserve?” I think back to my swimmer and how quickly he rebounded. Even though he hadn’t earned the state meet bid, I was enormously proud of his efforts throughout the year and his fearless swim in a big moment. Success need not be part of the pride equation. 

I also think about my little league baseball players when they strike out, heads down, near tears, dragging their bats behind them back to the dugout. We as coaches never let them dwell on what happened at the plate. We immediately redirect their attention to what’s next, preparing for the next opportunity. “What will you do to help the team” is a common question. 

As leaders and coaches so invested in our people, following our own advice and guidance can work also. Give yourself a moment to let the disappointment sink in, and then relentlessly and purposely re-focus and commit to the next chance for something great. I’ve found that shortening that turnaround time is key. 

What about you? How do you re-center yourself and your team after a setback or disappointment? How do you train yourself not to dwell on a loss? I’m curious about what works for you. 

Thank you for reading. Please like, comment, share, and subscribe.